I'll be Home for Christmas
by Catalyna
Summary: A series of different vignettes of Christmas
1. Chapter 1

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

**Hogan**

"Com'on Uncle Robbie, it's Christmas, ge' up!"

Colonel Robert E. Hogan pulled the comforter from his head and opened one eye peeking at the over-eager, tousled haired, seven-year-old boy. "Go away. It's not Christmas yet."

"Uh HUH! It is, and you're goin' to miss it. You've been here a whooooole week and done nothing but sleep. Com'on Uncle Robbie, it's time to get up!" the boy replied in a screaming whisper.

Hogan smiled and let out a false sigh. Slowly, he lifted up the comforter and covers, knowing he was tormenting the kid, and leisurely sat up in bed. He was in a mid-languid-stretch when a dark-haired young woman, dressed in a smart red dress, came to the door.

"Stevie, you know we told you to let your uncle sleep in. The presents can wait. You can go and play quietly with Lucy until we're all up. Now scoot." The last part was delivered with a soft pat on the boy's pajama'd bottom directing him out of the room.

"Presents? Stevie, why didn't you tell me there would be presents," Hogan looked at the kid in mock surprise. "Gee, Susie, if it was up to you, you would have me miss Christmas" He got up and gave his sister, Susan a peck on the cheek. Stevie had stopped in the hall and waved behind his mother.

"Like you would miss anything exciting," Susie smiled then turned to include Stevie who had stopped in the hall. "Both of you get dressed. Gram's cooking breakfast. We eat first and then the presents." As she turned back to her brother, Stevie grimaced until his mother again turned to look at him. He quickly ran down the hallway and disappeared in a room at the end.

Hogan copied Stevie's grimace. "Gee, Sis, you're no fun."

"And you are incorrigible." She retorted and quickly and lightly flicked his nose with her index finger then turned to go down the stairs. "Hurry up or you'll miss Christmas," she called up from the stairs.

Hogan quickly showered and shaved; trading off the luxury of hot water for the time with family. He then got dressed in denim dungarees and a flannel plaid shirt. It was a far change from the khaki's he was while in the service. He pulled on his warm, red, woolen socks then put on his brown boots. Yep, they were as far from his uniform as possible.

Downstairs, he passed the living room with filled with the scent of pine from the tall, gaily decorated Christmas tree in the corner. Framed in the big, picture window was a thick blanket of snow. Looking in the window, waving, was the snowman Hogan and his nieces and nephews had built the day before.

"He's the bestest snowman, Uncle Robbie!" cried 5-year-old Lucy yesterday. "Isn't he just the bestest?"

"Naw, he ain't," replied Tommy at 12-years-old, the eldest of the cousins.

"Isn't," corrected Hogan. He may be accused of corrupting his nieces and nephews in many ways, but it wasn't going to be in grammar!

"Isn't," repeated Tommy. "Tell us about the time you made a snowman to cover up the tunnel you were hiding from the Jerries, that was the bestest, I mean best!"

Smiling while reliving the past day, Hogan walked through the hallway following the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee, to the back of the house where the kitchen was. A older woman, his mother, was standing at the stove, wearing a festive green dress with a neatly starched white apron protecting it. Her silver hair was pulled loosely in a bun in back although the small curls that had escaped from the comb back were framing her face. After watching her for a few minutes, quietly Hogan snuck behind his mother. Reaching around her, while delivering a peck on the cheek, he quickly snatched one of the cooked sausages.

"Robert! Those are for breakfast!" She scolded while lightly slapping his hand. "Just for that, you can go and help your brother shovel the snow from the walk."

Just then a dark haired man entered the back door to the kitchen. "Too late. I just finished. If Rob knows anything, it's timing!" He laughed as he stomped snow from his boots on the woven rush mat near the door. This was Hogan's eldest brother, George.

"Well, then all of you can get out of the kitchen, and out of my way until breakfast. Shoo!" Hogan's mother then took her apron in both hands and started to shoo them both out of the kitchen as if she were shooing her hens into the coop.

"Okay, okay, we know where we're not wanted." Laughed Hogan. George and Hogan then retreated to the living room. Hogan wandered around the room taking it all in. He idly picked up the Christmas cards and reread them. The Joyeaux Noel of course came from LeBeau and Mayra. Even then, he couldn't keep back the involuntary shudder that happened every time he thought of her. Best of luck to LeBeau, a far braver man then anyone he knew.

The Happy Christmas was from Newkirk. He had given up any hope for a show business career after the war. He was too old and had been away too long. Newkirk was now working for a security firm as an advisor. He was recruited by companies and banks to show them where there were weak spots in their security. He was now picking locks and breaking into safes legitimately now.

Carter had sent a Christmas photo with a long letter telling Hogan about his family, he now had, what? Five kids now? He told about his small drugstore in Muncie, Indiana. About the many customers and foibles. His wife had written a cherry Merry Christmas at the bottom. Hogan looked at the photo again. Carter's wife was a sweet faced, brown-haired, pretty girl. Not beautiful, but sweetly pretty. His kids all looked like her but with dark blond hair like Carter's.

Then there was the "mysterious" Fröhliche Weihnachten. Hogan shook his head. You'd think if you wanted to stay hidden you wouldn't send Christmas cards or sign them with someone who knew your handwriting. Commandant Klink had a lot to learn. Hopefully he'd learn it and stay safe. "Und ein glückliches Neues Jahr to you, Klink." Hogan whispered. Hopefully, the fool would stay out of trouble for at least another year.

Schultz had sent a large parcel of gifts for Hogan's nieces and nephews. Apparently the Schotzie Toy Company was back in business and doing quite well.

Hogan frowned. Nothing from Kinchloe. He guessed he shouldn't expect anything after their release from camp, but still. A postcard or something. They had spent death fearing moments together didn't that count for something?

Before he got immersed into depression, Susie called out to her brothers that breakfast was ready. Hogan followed the shrill screams of the kids to the dining room.

"After Breakfast, Grams said we could open presents!" gleefully announced little Lucy.

"Really? I thought she said after church tonight." Hogan teased.

"Oh, so you will be going with us after all," his mother said sounding surprised.

"Uh, I was teasing. You really are going tonight?" Hogan tried to backpedal. After all, his family wasn't usually very religious. They rarely even made it to Easter and Christmas services.

His sister came up behind him with a dish loaded with sausages, "I wrote and told you she had been going to church every Sunday and holiday since you were captured. The least you can do is go to church and give thanks for your release."

His mother eyed his attire. "Are you going to wear your blue suit or uniform?" The meaning was obvious: he would be changing his clothes.

"I don't think my blue suit will fit me anymore, Mom." Hogan sighed. "I guess it'll be the uniform," he added reluctantly.

Breakfast was one of the most delicious he'd ever remembered. Maybe it was the company; the atmosphere. Corny as it sounded, nothing beat home cooking. Not even LeBeau's cooking.

After breakfast came the presents. Hogan got some shirts, new pajamas and neatly hemmed handkerchiefs (these were hand made from his nieces, Lucy and Maggie, with a little help from Mom, Susie confided.). But, Hogan was more interested in the train set that Tommy, Stevie, George and Jim, his brother-in-law, were playing with. "Show us how you blew up the tunnel, Uncle Robbie," cried Stevie.

"NO! There will be no exploding tunnels or anything in this house. Do. You. Hear. Me?" shouted Mom over the Christmas din of caroling, giggles, laughing, and various other noises from unidentified objects.

"Yes, Ma'am," all the males dutifully responded.

Later the day was spent playing in the snow, visiting with neighbors and after a large lunch, napping by the fireplace in the living room. Hogan was awakened by a nudge from his sister. "Time to get changed. We'll be going to church soon."

Hogan yawned, "Yeah, yeah. Any calls come in when I was sleeping?"

Susie looked at her brother perplexed, "Don't you think we'd wake you up if anything important came?"

Hogan nodded then made his way toward the stairs. His brother George stopped him. "It's a Sergeant Kinchloe for you." He was holding the phone receiver in his hand.

"Kinch? I knew he wouldn't forget!" Hogan excitedly taken the receiver from George's hand.

"Colonel? London has a job for us!" the familiar voice sounded urgent.

Hogan was confused. A job? It was Christmas! He'd stopped doing jobs for London a while ago. He was again nudged.

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Now he was being shaken by a very determined black sergeant. "Colonel, sorry to wake you, but London has a job for us. They say it's urgent."

Hogan sat up in the cold room he used as an office, bedroom and sitting room. Gone were the festive lights, the tree, and family. What remained were bare wooden walls, papered with pictures torn from magazines, from postcards and photos. His comfy bed was replaced by a crude wooden bunk with a mattress that could have been a comforter covered by a wool blanket for a sheet and another for well, a blanket. Hogan sighed, "it's like the song said: 'I'll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams.'"

Finis.


	2. Chapter 2

**Klink**

It was a cold snowy night by the time Colonel Wilhelm Klink had finally gotten to the train station with his suitcase and packages for home. "Sorry, Herr Colonel," the large sergeant apologized. "Colonel Hogan said he'd get the car running by this afternoon."

"Never mind, Sergeant. Hogan always says he'll get the car to us at a certain time and never does," Klink sighed. This was not an auspicious beginning. "Help me get my bags on the train and find my compartment."

He had settled into his compartment after making sure his suitcase and bags were tucked carefully in the shelf above. He was going home. Home to see his mother and brother. Klink sighed again. At least he didn't have to share the compartment.

He had lowered the window when he first came into the compartment as he felt overheated. Now, with his greatcoat off, and the snow coming down harder, he got up to raise it. He looked out onto the bleak snowy scenery. Once he would have been excited about the trip. Going home, seeing old friends again, the Gemütlichkeit of the season, the people in the towns. He would have been excited about the snow making everything looking like a fantasyland; covering up everything ugly and sparkling in the lights of the train.

Now, he felt as if a heavy weight was pressing down on him with each mile closer. He again sighed. Why bother? Mama would just keep singing the praises of Wolfgang. Wolfgang, the golden-haired child. Literally. Never mind, that he was a wastrel. He hadn't been working regularly in years. Heaven knows how many women he ruined. In Mama's eyes, Wolfgang could do no wrong.

Klink would work hard in classes; studying to late at night to pass. Wolfgang would work hard charming the teachers, passing easily. Klink would set goals for himself; Wolfgang would just let things happen. Klink would do things the right way and everything fell apart for him. Wolfgang would do things the way he wanted and he always came out smelling of roses. It wasn't fair.

And now, he was commandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. A colonel of the Luftwaffe. You'd think Mama would now be proud. No, Mama wanted to know how he could help Wolfgang out. She sounded surprised in her last letter that Wolfgang was again out of work.

Klink settled himself deeper into the seat and angrily opened the newspaper he had bought at the station. "I'm tired of helping Wolfgang!" he mumbled.

There was that time that Wolfgang had gotten himself drunk and tattooed before a swim meet while they were both in school. A swim meet where all the parents would be present. Klink knew what a mess there would be when their father saw the tattoo. He quickly found out there was nothing that would remove it, but, he had thought of painting over it. He had asked Hans, an artist friend of his, for some paint preferably flesh-colored and water resistant. He had mixed up a small batch of oil paint near the color of Wolfgang's skin. They hastily painted over the tattoo on his arm. No one noticed anything until his father grabbed Wolfgang's arm while he was shaking his hand because of Wolfgang's win. Klink was horrified to see the paint had come off on the elder Klink's hand. Did Wolfgang get into trouble? No. His father looked at his hand, laughed, and said something akin to "boys will be boys!" Now if Wilhelm had gotten the tattoo…

Klink again sighed. Why bother going into that? Father was long dead now it was only Mama, Wolfgang and Wilhelm. "Think about something pleasant, Wilhelm!" he scolded himself. Weihnachts trees. Like the beautiful tree Klink had bought the first year he made officer. It stood over 6ft high and was green and full. He brought it home with him when he first came home from camp. His first two weeks at home since he made officer. Even his mother was impressed. Unfortunately, no one had noticed that the dog kept drinking water out of the tree stand so when they lit the candles on Christmas Eve, the tree caught fire and almost burned the house down. Wolfgang was the hero of the day when he came home and brought the little 3 foot table tree for the parlor.

Klink harrumphed. This Christmas would be no different from the last. Last year, he was saving to get his mother a fur coat she had been hinting for. Just when he had the amount, Wolfgang called begging for money for rent. If Wilhelm didn't give Wolfgang the money, he and his family would be thrown out into the street. Wilhelm couldn't allow that to happen to his nieces and nephews could he? No, Klink couldn't so he sent the money. Then, when he arrived at his mother's house Christmas, there she was standing in the middle of the room with her fur coat. "Wolfgang was such a bad boy; he told me he couldn't wait until Christmas for me to open my present. Isn't it beautiful?" his mother cooed over the coat. "Ach, Wilhelm, why can't you save your money like Wolfgang?" Wolfgang smirked over his mother's head at Wilhelm, "Oh, leave him alone, Mama. He has problems enough. Jailers are always worrying that their prisoners will escape."

Jailer! He was a full Colonel, and Commandant of the toughest POW camp in Germany and his brother called him a jailer. He should just tell his family just what he thought of them all. He could just see his mother's face when he told her it was HIM, WILHELM and not WOLFGANG who was paying for her house. It was HIM, WILHELM and not WOLFGANG who made sure father got a decent burial.

He could see both Wolfgang's and his wife, Maria's faces when he told about the many affairs his brother had. What would his mother say when he told them that Günter, her first grandson, wasn't premature, in fact he was at least a month late! "Oh, but he's just a big boy. It's a good thing that he wasn't full term!" his mother kept saying. Yes, he would tell them exactly what he thought of them. That would be a Happy Christmas for them. He'd tell them exactly what he thought then go to a hotel and spend the rest of his leave enjoying himself.

Klink happily settled into his seat and fell asleep for the rest of the journey. Finally, the train stopped at his station. Grabbing his suitcase and packages he hurried off the train and off to find a taxi. Instead, just outside the station, he was met by Maria, his sister-in-law. "Willi, your mother asked if I could pick you up and take you to her house." She looked up at him with shy eyes, "You don't mind do you?"

Suspicious, he answered, "No, but why did she ask that? She's never cared before."

"Oh, Willi, it's just awful. I don't know what to do and you're mother is beside herself. Wolf has caused an explosion at the factory and they've arrested him for being a saboteur!" Maria turned toward Klink and tears welled in her eyes. "You know he's not a saboteur!"

"Yes, yes, I know he's many things, but not a saboteur," agreed Klink angry at himself for melting a little.

"We thought, maybe, with your connections, you could get him out. You know so many important people. Generals, Reich Marshalls, couldn't you get one to help him?"

Klink shrugged, "Maybe. I'll have to make some calls." He didn't want to, but he knew he would again try and bail his brother out of trouble. When he got to his mother's house he began calling old acquaintances, anyone he thought would be able to help him. Oddly enough, he didn't really need to call anyone as he found out when he spoke to the Gestapo Headquarters trying to get more information regarding his brother's arrest.

"Klink? I should have known he was your brother," came the familiar voice over the phone. "Yes, we know he is not a saboteur. A fool, yes; traitor no. An investigation showed it was not your brother's fault for the explosion. You can come and pick him up with our compliments. And GOOD RIDDANCE!"

"Thank you, Major Hochstetter and Heil Hitler," Klink responded to the dead air in the phone.

"Mama, Maria, they are releasing Wolf at the Gestapo Headquarters. I can go and pick him up now." He turned to the two women whose eyes were glowing at him.

It was a very subdued Wolf who rode in the car with Klink. "You would not believe what they wanted to do to me, Willi." Yes, Klink had a good idea what they wanted to do to Wolf if he was found to be a traitor.

Wolf almost gained his old spark when he got home to Mama's, but, she quieted him. "Don't you have something to say to your brother, Wolf? He was the one who got you released."

"Of course a jailer knows how to get a prisoner released," joked Wolfgang.

"Don't joke, Wolf!" retorted an angry Maria. "Willi worked very hard to get you released. You should thank him."

Klink's mother took off Klink's coat and hung it up in the hallway and directed him to the chair next to the big stove in the living room. She then brought him some Glühwein she had heating in the kitchen. "Willi is a big man in Berlin. He talked to Generals to get you released. You will be nicer to him."

Klink settled into the comfy chair and took a careful sip of the mulled wine. Well maybe he'd go to a hotel later. It was Christmas; after all, people should be nicer to each other even if it was only one day a year. Maybe this Christmas would stretch out to the whole week…

**Finis.**


	3. Chapter 3

Carter

Sergeant Schultz slowly opened the door to the Barracke 2. Poking his head inside the door he took note of where everyone was. Kinch, Newkirk and Carter were at the table near the stove playing cards with their blankets around their shoulders. Addison, Brotten, Davis, Edwards, Harper and Hanson were watching the game. LeBeau was stirring something that smelt very good in a pot on the stove. Hogan wasn't in sight. But, Hammond, O'Brien and Mills were in the far point of the barrack on their various bunks huddled up and reading. Saunders and Garth were at the other end of the barrack talking quietly on Garth's bunk. That only left Olsen and Williams…Ah, there they were! They were also playing cards. Hanson and Edwards were blocking Schultz' view. Schultz gave a big sigh. There was no avoiding it. He had to go in and face them.

Taking a deep breath, Schultz pushed in the door and whispered, "Mail Call!" Suddenly there was a stampede of men racing after the large sergeant. "COLONEL HOGAN, COLONEL HOGAN! HELP ME!" screamed the poor man.

"Okay, okay men let him up," called Hogan as he rushed out of his office. It said a lot for the colonel that the men instantly backed up and let him pass through to the cowering sergeant on the ground. Hogan held out his hand, but instead of helping up the sergeant he took the mail bag.

He held it in his hand and mentally weighed it. "Heavy, you krauts must have missed some of our Christmas packages. What's wrong? Wrong size or wrong color?" Hogan raised an eyebrow.

"Jolly Joker! We have not touched your packages. Besides most of the clothing was in red, white and blue. Not very stylish for this season," Schultz sniffed then walked out the door leaving Hogan to sort out the packages. Schultz then stuck his head back in the door.

"I'll be back for my bag. You were the last Barracke anyway." He turned his head and looked hopefully at LeBeau, "Maybe you will have some strudel to put in the bag?"

"Depends on how I feel after I read my letters from my girlfriends. If they are not too badly censored, I will consider it."

Schultz sighed, "No strudel today." Then he was off.

Hogan read off the names from the various packages and letters while the men came forward and took them from the colonel. Suddenly, when he came to one package he stopped. "Sorry, Carter, it seems the krauts have gotten whatever was in the package for you." He shook the package. "It feels and sounds empty."

Carter got up from the bench next to the table and took the package. After reading the return label, he remarked, "its okay, Colonel. I know what it is." Smiling to himself, he went back to his bunk and placed the package under his pillow and returned to the table. The package would keep until later.

It was Williams who remarked, "Hey, Carter. Aren't cha going to open the package? Don't cha want to know what's in it?"

Amid the "Leave off, Williams!" and "Shut it, Williams! He can do anything he wants with any of his mail!" from his friends, Carter simply replied, "I have a hunch what's inside. I'll take care of it later."

The barrack was quiet when Carter picked up the rest of his letters and began reading. Occasionally, a voice would pipe up, "Hey get this, I'm a father! Rosie had twins!" After congratulations had dwindled another voice would chime in with news from home, "Great, I got a note from the censor: 'Your girlfriend still loves you, but talks too much.' Like I didn't know that! Patty was always a talker!" Guffaws followed and again died down, until the next man felt he had to remark about something he had read from his letter from home.

Packages too carried things that could be shared; although these were shared with more restraint. Cookies and baked goods could be used for bartering. Clothing also, although many times these were used by the receiver without a thought of bartering because the receiver was in need himself.

This was one of Carter's favorite moments. Yeah, all the guys would be feeling bad again once the mail was finished and they were all stuck in the prison camp, but they were all experiencing it together. They were all homesick together. "For example," thought Carter, "take the mail: they all shared the good news and bad news. If someone didn't get any mail that time, someone would share the letters with them." You can bear almost anything if you're sharing it with someone.

"It's all comparative: take the 30s," Carter lectured to himself, "why, in Bullfrog, 'most everyone was going through tough times. Didn't matter though, no one knew anything different. Guess it would have if there were some rich people in town…" Carter snorted a small laugh. Rich people in Bullfrog, North Dakota? Well, there were families that had a little more than the others, but rich? Not like you saw in the movies; always dressing up and going to nightclubs, parties, and such. The social life Carter saw in movies wasn't far off from the fairy tales he read in books.

In fact it was the 30s when Carter first received the package.

"Sorry, I couldn't afford to get you anything," 13-year-old James Carter told his younger brother Andrew. They both shuffled their feet.

"It's okay. I know you were buying Mom something and …" Andrew broke off. What could he say? It was rude to say he was expecting something and besides, James looked bad enough that he didn't get anything for Andrew.

"Yeah, it just cost more than I thought," James was trying to explain. "Here, this is what I wanted to get you." He awkwardly shrugged then shoved an old wooden cigar box to Andrew.

Andrew looked at the box puzzled. "Cigars? Gee, I don't even smoke!"

James huffed, "no, not cigars, look inside!" Impatiently he opened the box and showed the picture torn out of a magazine and placed inside the box.

"WOW! A bike! That was for me?" Andrew gushed.

"Well, not that bike, I was arranging to buy Billy Burkle's old bike. But," James' voice faltered and sank almost to a whisper, "you know…"

"Yeah," Andrew sadly replied, "we could 'a gone places… I bet we could even beat Bobby Crowe on his bike!"

"Yeah," replied James envisioning the two Carter brothers on their bikes. Unbeatable. "I bet we would've been able to beat anyone in Bullfrog on a bike."

Andrew was caught up in his brother's vision, "Yeah, I bet we could 'a beat anyone in Crabapple Junction too! On that bike we could go to Boontown!"

Now James had caught Andrew's enthusiasm, "Naw, further than Boontown! I bet we could go all the way to Fargo! Just to see the governor!"

Andrew was laughing, "See the governor? What for?"

James was laughing too and shrugged, "I don't know. To say howdy?"

Now both boys were laughing. It was funny, funny peculiar, not funny ha ha, that in a few minutes, both boys were sad because they couldn't afford to give each other gifts, now they were laughing and trying to top what they would do if they ever had such things. Eventually, their younger siblings, Donnie and Robin joined in. This had continued throughout the day and into the night, until bedtime.

"You know, Andy," the elder brother looked down from his bunk bed to his younger brother in his lower bunk, "I think this was one of the best Christmases we've had!"

Andrew looked at his brother and smiled, "Yeah it was." As his brother lay back down on his upper bunk Andrew added, "might have been nicer with the bike, but this was a good Christmas."

And so through the years, the box was used to fill in important dates between all four siblings until finally, the Christmas after James graduated high school. "Here, Jimmy, a late graduation present."

James looked at the box Andrew held, "Gee, cigars? I don't even smoke!"

Andrew smiled at the old joke, "go ahead; take it. It won't bite"

James took the box warily, and then opened it. A world atlas? He looked at his brother in askance. "What's this for?"

"Well, I know you got a chance to go to college," Andrew started. "You don't want to because you think you've got to take care of Mom and all of us. Well, I'm saying that I'm going to take care of Mom, Donnie and Robin and you're going to college. You've got a chance to get out there in the world and you're going to take it. I'm not going to take no for an answer!" Andrew swallowed and hoped his face showed how determined he was.

The two brothers stood there facing each other, both with the same determined mirrored on both faces. Except for a few slight differences, in spite of the year and half between them they could have been taken for twins. Finally, James looked down at the box and whispered, "Thank you." He then looked straight into his brother's eyes, "are you sure?"

Andrew's small smile got larger and slowly spread across his face, "Yeah, I'm sure."

The box wasn't seen until two years later when it was the Christmas after Andrew had graduated. Donnie, the next in line gave it to Andrew. Smiling Andrew opened it up and frowned, a map of the United States? He looked at his younger brother, "How come I give Jimmy the world and you only give me the United States?"

Donnie smiled, "have you considered the condition the world is in lately? I think I'm giving you a good bargain. James got a chance to leave Bullfrog and now it's yours. It's my turn to take care of Mom and Robin. I'm more settled here anyway. You and James always had itchy feet."

Andrew smiled at his brother, "what about Mary Jane? She's going to graduate next year and we're planning on getting married eventually."

"So, you go and get a job and you settled. Then you send for her when you've got enough money to support both of you," Robin told him. "She'll wait, if it's meant to be."

It was also Robin who decided how to figure out where Andrew would go. "Stick a pin in the map and go there."

The three siblings huddled around the map while Andrew closed his eyes and pushed the pin into the map. "And it's…Muncie?" Andrew drew the map closer to his face. Yep it was Muncie. What in the world was in Muncie?

"It's a big city. So, many people must find something nice about Muncie," said his sister trying to find something good.

"More chances to find a good job," added Donnie his brother. "You'll find some adventures too, I bet!"

Donnie was right; he found a job at a druggist shop almost right away. Stocking shelves, working the soda fountain, and such. Mr. Horster was the druggist and encouraged Andrew to study for a pharmacy license. After that he'd be able to send for Mary Jane.

Unfortunately he never had a chance to send for Mary Jane because the war came and he had joined up.

Carter sat in his bunk trying to figure out the next few times the box was used. Oh yeah, when he sent the eagle feather his grandfather, a full Sioux Indian had given him to Donnie. His brother was trying to decide whether or not to get married. Carter had sent the feather hoping it would grant his brother the courage to propose. He was also in the process of buying a turkey farm. Carter figured that he'd need courage for both.

He'd heard that Donnie had sent Robin the box when Teddy, Robin's beau proposed. Donnie had sent her a pearl for wisdom, and it worked. She turned down Teddy and eventually married Calvin Winstead, who the entire Carter family considered a much better match.

And now the box was sent to him again. He went back to his bunk to look at it again when he noticed it was missing. "Hey who took my box?" It was then he noticed Williams with the box in his hands opened.

"What's the matter? It's just an empty box," Williams snarled.

"It's mine!" Carter faced him toe to toe. "Give it back, now."

The rest of the barracks had gathered around the two men. Carter's eyes narrowed, "I said give it back, Williams."

Williams looked around at the other men, if there was going to be a fight he'd have no one in his corner. Also, Carter may have looked wiry, but Williams had seen him in the rec hall working out. There was muscle there; controlled muscle. "Here I just wanted to look at it." Williams shoved it into Carter's hands.

Hogan came back through his office door where he had disappeared after mail call. "What's going on? Carter? Williams?" He looked at Carter, never seeing him so mad, then at Williams.

Holding his box, Carter then turned to his commanding officer and said, "Nothing, sir. Nothing."

"Yeah, nothin', sir," replied Williams.

All the men gathered around agreed, "nothing, sir."

Hogan sized the men up and decided this time to let it drop. He'd find out later what was going on and what to do about Williams. He was sure Williams was the problem; again.

It was later when Carter was settled in his bunk rereading his letters from home, when LeBeau tentatively asked Carter if he had an empty box. He wanted to send something he had made back to his sister in Paris.

"Sorry LeBeau, but my box is full. I can't spare it." Carter felt he wasn't lying as he patted the box on the wall shelf next to his bunk. Yep, the box was chock full of Christmas memories past.

Finis.


	4. Chapter 4

**Newkirk**

The snow was coming down hard now and Newkirk couldn't see further than a few feet in front of him outside. He knew that somewhere nearby was a small storage shed and animal shelter the farmer who owned this land used occasionally. Not that it would be in use this time of year, as the shelter was made up of old planks and let in quite a bit of light to say nothing of snow, rain, and wind. Finally he found the dark colored shack and hurried in. As he looked around the small shack, he mumbled angrily to himself, "Bloody swell!"

He moved some hay together to make a comfortable spot where he could watch the open doorway to see if anyone would be coming and to see when the snow would be dying down enough for him to get back to camp.

"Just abso-blooming-lutely swell! Colonel's going to have a right go at me for this one, he is. 'Sposed to be a routine recon and I'm caught in a blizzard and can't get back," he continued to mumble. He began to shift some of the hay around himself, now he was seated, trying to stop the wind from blowing over him. "I was bloody stupid to stay around Lily's after she told me to go. Don't know why I even volunteered to leave camp."

"Don't worry," a voice in heavily accented English called from the back of the shelter, "this storm can't last long."

Newkirk quickly got up with his gun in hand and peered into the back of the shelter. Bloody hell! "Com'on out you. Let's have a look at you."

Newkirk was astonished as a tall, thin white haired old man came out from the back. He was neatly dressed in a dark coat coming to his knees and wore heavy black boots with his pants tucked into them. At the moment he had no hat on his head, but he did have some warm woolen mittens on Newkirk noticed enviously.

The man was busy brushing hay from his neatly trimmed white beard as he spoke, "Don't worry, and don't shoot. I'm not here to harm you." The man glanced down at Newkirk's gun then sat down on the straw next to where Newkirk had just gotten up. "It's just me and Elsa." The man gestured with his mitten toward the back. Newkirk glanced toward the back and saw a small white donkey contentedly eating hay. She turned her head toward Newkirk and continued to chew while showing some rather large yellowed teeth.

Newkirk could have kicked himself. How'd he manage to miss them when he looked around the shelter? It was mistakes like that that could shorten a bloke's life. "You are an Englander? From the prison camp, yes?" the old man looked at Newkirk.

Newkirk looked down at his uniform. Well at least he could give thanks he was in uniform. If caught, he could just say he was escaping. They would just return him to the stalag not shoot him as a spy or saboteur. "Yeah, I'm escaping, like," Newkirk explained. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't turn me in. I mean even if we're enemies and all…" _Yes, that's it, Newkirk, play the part…_

"Escaping?" the man nodded his head. "O-kay." Newkirk was slightly amused by the use of the not-so German slang word. "Why do you say we are enemies?" the old man turned to look at Newkirk with startling blue eyes.

This took Newkirk aback. "Well, you're German and I'm British and our countries are at war…"

Again the old man slowly nodded and waved his hand airily, "Oh that. I make it a point of not getting involved in such things." Newkirk was beginning to wonder if maybe there was a family nearby wondering what happened to Großvater; if he hadn't taken to "wandering" again. The old man reached into a small bag he had placed beside him and pulled out a small thermos. Unscrewing the top, he poured out some dark hot liquid. "Hot chocolate?" the old man gestured toward Newkirk.

Newkirk gratefully took the cup, "Don't mind if I do. Thank you." They both were quiet as they watched the snow fall outside.

"You hope to arrive home by Christmas, yes?" the old man asked after awhile of companionable silence.

Christmas? Newkirk hadn't really thought about that. Christmas at the Newkirk's usually meant at the Theatre; one show a night and two matinees. Newkirk's parents were theatrical: his mother was a dancer, could have been tops, but she met Newkirk's dad and gotten pregnant. Dad was a magician. He could make anything disappear in a wink of an eye. In bad times, things could disappear off-stage just as fast as on.

"Hadn't thought about it much," Newkirk answered honestly.

"Ah. Getting home itself would be a treat in itself. Yes?" asked the old man. "Going to family, home, yes?"

Newkirk shrugged his shoulders. Home? Well, maybe home if they ever had a proper one. After a quick marriage at the registry, Mum became Dad's assistant in his magic act until Peter began to put Mum's figure out. After his birth, he was literally living out their trunks. His cradle, the lower drawer of the old steamer trunk they used for props and costumes. After Peter's birth, Mum got her figure back fast; so back she was again as Dad's assistant. While they were onstage his babysitter was usually one of the other acts. But, never the drunken ones or the "peculiar" ones. Mum was careful of who was watching her baby. Same thing when Mavis was born two years later.

"Maybe not," responded the old man answering his own question.

"No, I'd like to see England and family again," Newkirk quickly responded. "It's just that, well…"

"Yes," replied the old man smiling. "Sometimes families are…difficult. But surely you would wish to see your old…mates? School chums?" the old man hesitated over the unfamiliar word.

Newkirk frowned. Not many school chums he'd be seeing. When Peter became old enough for school, Mum insisted that he go to a proper one. None of this traveling around, her son was going to be able to better himself. Trouble was Peter didn't think anything was wrong with traveling around. He was out of school more than he was in. Not that he didn't learn anything. Luckily for him, he was a quick learner and had a certain native intelligence. It also didn't hurt that Mum insisted that he read any book she brought home. It was a sketchy education he had at best, but he found out it was a bit more than some of his chums back in England.

Not that he didn't have _any_ mates. A few good friends he could count on, but, although a charmer and outwardly appearing as open as a book, not many people got close to Newkirk.

Newkirk gazed out into the swirling snow. "Maybe a few mates," He lied. He had realized he had become closer to the men from Stalag 13 who he had only known maybe a few years then the men and boys he had grown up with. It was an uncomfortable thought bringing some truths to Newkirk he didn't want to look too closely at.

The old man had put away the thermos and was now sitting contentedly with his hands loosely clasped on his lap. He was smiling absently as he watched the snow. The cold didn't seem to bother him. "Maybe you would go to church as thanksgiving for your successful escape," he suggested.

Newkirk snorted. Church was the last place he'd be going.

"Ah, I understand. An unbeliever," again the old man nodded in his slow way.

Thinking he had insulted the old man who he was beginning to develop a fondness, "No not quite, I just don't know what I believe."

"Yes, I understand," the old man answered calmly. "There are those who are born with the words 'credo' on their lips, faithfully, sometimes even blindly, believing anything they are told about faith. Then, there are those who believe in nothing either through birth or happenstance. And lastly, those who wish to believe, but must journey through life finding their own answers."

Newkirk scratched his ear. "I don't rightly know about that. But, how can a bloke believe in a god that allows war, poverty…" Newkirk threw his hands up. How could he explain his loss of faith if he had any, to this old man?

"And for how long does one expect ones father to take care of them as they approach manhood?" queried the old man. "Maybe that's why there aren't as many miracles now because God expects mankind to begin to take over some of the responsibility"

Apparently he was the type to enjoy philosophical debates. Well, it did pass the time, but usually Newkirk didn't like his personal philosophy examined so closely. He went along in life, doing what he had to do. Don't look too closely at the rights and wrongs; you get by better that way. Besides, who knows where he'd be if he expected his father to take care of him and his family. Drunken lout had taken to drink and when drunk taken to beating his wife. Newkirk had kicked his father out of the house they were then living in when he was 16. His mother was crying, but Mavis, his sister stood by him. He guessed from talking to others that not all fathers were like that, but, he certainly didn't expect his father to ever take care of him.

"I see," replied the old man. Newkirk puzzled what he was seeing. "So, do you believe you are a good man?"

Newkirk was taken aback. He had stole, and now even killed since joining up. He believed he was doing right, protecting his family, friends and country, but was he truly a good man? Surely, there were men on the other side doing the same thing; believing they were good men, doing right. It was hard to tell what was good and what wasn't anymore.

The old man must have noticed Newkirk's discomfort and patted his knee, "if it helps, just worrying about it is a good sign."

"Yeah, uh, thanks," murmured Newkirk, still thinking.

The old man brightened up as he looked outside. "See, the snow has stopped you can go on."

Newkirk looked and the snow had stopped he'd be able to get back to camp now. "Thanks, Herr…" he let it drop as the old man was not forthcoming with his name. "I guess I'll be going now. Please don't tell anyone you say me."

The man gave him a cheery wave, "don't worry. I'll tell no one. I'm just going to get Elsa now and finish my deliveries. It was nice to pass the time with you." He held out a mittened hand for Newkirk to shake.

"Yeah, it was nice knowing you too." And Newkirk was off.

"Farewell, Journeyer. Hopefully you will find your path soon. You are a good man." The old man whispered as he watched Newkirk disappear into the grey night. "Ach well, come Elsa, we have to find Peter now."

Elsa brayed at him. "Yes, I know that young man was Peter. But, you very well know that is not the Peter I was talking about," the old man scolded the donkey which, brayed again. "What do you mean you were joking? That wasn't very much of a joke. I don't know what I'm going to do with you…" He continued talking with the little donkey as he disappeared into the night.

Finis.

HINT: if you want to know who Newkirk met, read up on German Christmas lore.  You _may _find the answer there.


End file.
